We Stand Apart and Together Fall
by Lassroyale
Summary: Set in the 5.04 Croatoan verse: "Dean and Castiel's relationship has become something terrible, but neither of them are willing to walk away. Dean, because he needs Cas for reasons he can't remember; and Castiel, because he has nowhere else to go." *A/N: This story has been cleaned up and edited from its original version. Please note: very much DUB-CON and heavy on the angst.*


"What the fuck was that?"

The words snapped through the air, akin to the crack of a whip that opened skin in a single, well-executed strike. Castiel flinched back from the sound, though when he looked at Dean his gaze was distant and unfocused. His eyes were almost black, pupils blown fucking wide with only the barest ring of blue iris was showing beneath heavy lids.

Dean emitted a disgusted, angry noise as he stalked towards him. His gaze was flinty; his eyes were as hard as jade. He grabbed a handful of Castiel's shirt with blood-smeared fingers and hauled him roughly to his feet. Then he gave the former angel a single violent, quick shake, like a dog shaking a rabbit it caught to break its neck. Dean shoved Cas up against the wall, grabbing his chin in one hand as he forced Cas' weary, far-away gaze to focus upon him.

"You fucked up, Cas, you fucked up bad. Because of your misstep we lost two good, _perfectly healthy_ soldiers today." Dean's anger was thick and palpable; Castiel could feel it's harsh scrape drag over him like a dull razor across day's old stubble. It made him uncomfortable, though it was nothing compared to the ache that rose in him when Dean was this close; close enough that he could remember the man he used to be.

It was an ache that, had he been something lesser than what he was (or rather, had _been_), would have broken his spirit long ago. It was the sort of ache that the fingers felt; the itch of being denied the ability to touch something it sorely wanted. It was the sort of ache that made his breath ragged and harsh when he woke in the middle of the night with a sharp twinge of pain in his shoulders and wetness trailing down on his cheeks.

It was the ache of love that was so deeply buried in sorrow, self-loathing, and hate; so twisted by circumstance and time, that it was all but lost.

So Castiel did what he always did when faced with the ache: he grinned.

His grin was anything but happy. It was filled with a special kind of misery and hopelessness that burrowed deeply into the corners of his mouth like maggots tunneling through rotten flesh. In fact, as Castiel's lips twitched upwards and drew back far enough to show a hint of teeth, something shifted within Dean's face. He looked momentarily regretful and his grip loosened slightly around the fabric of Cas' shirt bunched in his fists. The emotion, however, was transient, and it slid from his face as quickly as it had come.

His grip tightened again. Then, without so much as blinking, Dean backhanded Castiel hard across the jaw. "That's all you do these days, Cas," he growled, his voice laced with derision. "You just grin, get high, and fuckin' screw up and get good men and women killed."

The left side of his face smarted from the force of Dean's blow, but Castiel had been expecting it. It's how it always happened after he fucked up on a raid. It didn't matter to Dean that he was recovering from broken ribs and a minor concussion. No, what mattered to Dean were willing individuals who would fight and die for his cause. What mattered to Dean, was his revenge.

Castiel saw past all of that. He knew that this whole thing was Dean's desperate attempt to die. Outright suicide, after all, was just not the Winchester way. Cas stayed because he had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. Mostly though, he stayed because he stilled loved Dean with every fiber of his now mortal being.

Everyone else stayed because they were drawn-in by Dean's determination and charisma, though he could see in their eyes that part of them all saw what this really was. Most chose to ignore it, and the few who couldn't simply didn't came back one day, from the deadened wasteland that had once been home.

There were a number of things that Castiel might have said to Dean at this point, but he was tired and his ribs ached, so he opted for the easy response. "I'm sorry, Dean," he murmured. He looked directly into Dean's eyes, his buzz fading to be replaced by a keen sort of tension that thrummed along the ridges of his spine. He could see from the way Dean's gaze grew clouded and stormy, that it wouldn't be that easy for him today.

Cas' grinned again, wider this time and a tenfold more brittle; a rictus smile pulled taut by nodes of despair. Dean's face grew heavy with something that warred between love and hate, and all at once the tension between them snapped.

He crushed his mouth to Castiel's savagely, all teeth and unchained aggression. The kiss was not designed for pleasure. It was pure punishment when Dean bit down and purposefully drew blood. Castiel grunted in pain. He tasted salt and copper on his tongue as he dug his fingers into Dean's shoulders and pressed himself against him.

He hated himself for it; he hated how this had become their relationship, this violent parody of what once used to be real passion and love.

He hated how much he needed it.

Dean drew back and looked at him for a moment, his eyes dark and inscrutable and filled with something that was so intense, so _broken_ , that it made Castiel just _hurt_. Then Dean took a step back and hit him again, this time with a closed fist. "I told you not to touch me - it's not like that..._we're_ not like that anymore."

Castiel staggered but nodded, blood running from his nose as he tried to regain his senses and balance. Dean grabbed him by the back of the neck before he could do either, and shoved him towards the cot in the corner of the room. Cas stumbled and pitched forward, falling haphazardly onto the threadbare mattress with a grimace of pain. He could feel a dull throb in his side as his ribs - barely healed - protested the rough treatment.

Dean ignored the small groan Cas issued and settled onto the mattress as well, leaning his weight fully against him as he brought their mouths together again. Blood and spit made their lips slick and sticky, and Dean's mouth was hot and vicious when he bit down on Cas' neck hard enough to leave a stark bruise.

Castiel gripped the frame of the cot and felt jagged metal bite into his palms. The pain was good; the pain would give him focus for what was next. Blood made his hands slick, but he only clutched the rusted metal harder, tightening his fingers until he felt the blood run down his wrists. He concentrated on the warmth of it as Dean jacked a hand in down his pants and gripped him.

He was almost ashamed to be half-hard already, but he couldn't bring himself to feel that shame - not anymore. He needed this, and, in many ways, _Dean_ needed this. And what Dean needed had always come first for Castiel; at least that had and wouldn't, ever change.

Dean undid his belt with one hand as he began to jerk Castiel off. It wasn't tender, and truthfully, it was barely even pleasurable. Cas got hard, nevertheless, arching into that harsh touch as he choked on his own moans. Dean got hard quickly - he always did when it was like this - and he leaned over to rub his free hand over Castiel's wrists before spitting into his palm. He stroked himself, coating his dick with saliva and fluid, before pushing into Cas without preparation.

It hurt, fuck, it always did, and Castiel issued a hoarse cry of pain. Nonetheless, he grit his teeth and forced himself to relax and focus on the metal digging into the torn skin of his palms, instead of the pain of being stretched and filled so suddenly.

Dean began fucking into him remorselessly; one hand gripped the sharp jut of Cas' hip so tightly, that Cas thought his bones might crack and break under the pressure of Dean's fingers. Dean was silent, only the slap of skin and sound of his ragged breath filling the room as thrust himself violently into Cas' body. Sweat beaded on Dean's his upper lip and he maintained eye contact with Cas, when he began to pump Cas' cock in time with the sharp snap of his hips. Castiel couldn't bear the coldness in Dean's gaze, so he threw back his head, screwed his eyes shut, and told himself that this wasn't rape.

Yet, as Dean came with a drawn-out, stifled moan and yanked Castiel roughly over the edge with him, they both knew that this sure as hell wasn't quite sex, either.

Dean collapsed for a moment next to him, panting heavily against his shoulder. Castiel sucked in a sharp breath when Dean shifted and slid out of him, though physical pain was nothing compared to the that surged in his heart, when Dean lay beside him; warm and soft and still. Cas closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, pathetically relishing the moment for the shadow of what it was. He stroked his hand once through the Dean's damp hair, fingernails scraping slowly over his scalp, his cut palms tingling in memory. "It's okay," he lied.

Dean shifted and pushed himself up with one hand. The cot ground out a rusty creak as he leaned over Cas and sealed his mouth over his in a single kiss that was so gentle and soft and _desperate_, that Castiel couldn't help but pour a piece of himself into it; another piece for Dean to take.

"No it ain't," Dean muttered against the soft press of Cas' mouth, and Cas could taste the quiet hopelessness and remorse in the softness of Dean's breath. Dean rose then and swiftly tucked himself back into his pants; Castiel silently mourned the loss of his warmth as the soldier persona fell back over Dean's features, hardening them. As Dean strode towards the door, he paused once and looked back.

"Don't fuck up again, Cas, I'm warning you."

Dean pushed through the door without another word, and Castiel was left with his soreness, mess, and the weight of his thoughts.

(The End.)


End file.
